Yahoo Autos The Citroen 2CV and the CEO
Language experts generally agree that the first six years of a child’s life are the most formative for learning language. We speak and little ears listen, acquiring meaning, coming to comprehend syntax, sensing nuance. Teaching your child a new language early on is a life-long gift that may take them to unexpected and wonderful places. For instance, thanks to her parents’ diligent efforts, Geneva Long has always been fluent in Citroën 2CV.
And not just 2CV, but all dialects of the Citroën family of romance languages, and that of the Czech-built Tatras too. Geneva’s parents, John Long and Helena Mitchell, were early tech entrepreneurs, and their passions lay in early automotive design. John’s first car was a Citroën DS19 that he found in a field and got for free. His old Tatraplan now sits in the madcap Lane Motor Museum in Nashville, Tennessee. John and Helena once drove their family all over Canada and the U.S. in a 1948 Tatra T87 during an epic adventure to see the Pacific, Atlantic, and Arctic oceans. They dipped the Tatra’s front wheels in the waters of all three. Their kids would seem to have had an unusual baptism.
"It was just normal," says Ms. Long, now 30, speaking to us from Oxnard, California, where she lives and works. "We always had interesting vehicles around the house. Getting dropped off at school or going off for long road trips in them felt totally normal."
Long is the CEO of Bowlus Road Chief, crafters of travel trailers unlike anything else in the market, and possibly on the planet. Handcrafted from aerospace aluminum and aircraft-grade rivets, Bowlus trailers resemble a cross between a 1934 Bugatti Aérolithe and the Rocketeer’s helmet. Inside, a Bowlus is unequal parts ultra-modern curved birch panelling, HEPA filters, and lithium-ion battery packs for off-the-grid camping. Half the weight of would-be rivals, it is the height of 1930s-era aeronautical engineering formed around a core of modern technology.
By comparison, a 29 hp Citroën 2CV is a canvas tent with a motor, and not much of a motor at that. Yet Geneva Long owns a 2CV. It’s a 1990 model, the last year they were made, in white. She’s owned it for 30 years. I’ll let you do the math.
There are pictures of Ms. Long seated behind the wheel of her 2CV before she could read. By the time Geneva was in grade school, her dad had already taught her how to shift the 2CV’s wacky half-umbrella manual transmission. John had two other 2CVs, shuttling parts back and forth to keep one running, and he and Geneva would go out together, father calling out the gears, daughter doing the shifting. Meanwhile, her own 2CV sat patiently in the garage, waiting.
Three years back, former R&T editor-at-large Sam Smith borrowed a 2CV from John Long’s brother Greg, in Seattle. Smith’s plan was to take his four-year-old daughter for ice cream. In Tillamook, Oregon. Two hundred and thirty miles away.
"A reasonable act," Smith wrote. "And also slightly insane."
Which is the essence of the 2CV. It’s deceptively simple, but delicately engineered. It’s a practical people’s car, yet also a cultural icon. It’s banana-slug slow but often more engaging than a 911 Turbo. Show a 2CV the slightest corner and it rolls over like a fat Labrador retriever looking for belly rubs. To the uninitiated, driving one can feel very weird. To those who are used to it, it’s an entirely transparent experience.
Of his 2CV, Japanese animator Hayao Miyazaki once said, "I love this car. With it, I tremble with cold in winter and I die of heat in summer. It is in perfect osmosis with my nature and with my workshop installed at the bottom of a wood."
"It was just my car," Geneva says. "It was the car I drove to high school [in Ontario], and the car I drove down when I went to college in Philadelphia. It’s definitely not a winter car, but you can drive it in the winter. The heater is actually pretty good."
The connection between a funny little French peasants’ car and a bespoke luxury RV marque is hard to parse. At the top end of the range, the recently released Bowlus Terra Firma is a $250,000 jewel, marrying bespoke manufacturing techniques to high-tech conveniences. The slow, tinny 2CV is as much of an acquired taste as an accordion solo. It can seem silly.
But you can tell that Long is not a frivolous person. Last year, she made Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list, in the manufacturing and engineering division. She has grown Bowlus from a risky startup to millions in annual revenue, an American-made success story. Her work schedule begins at 5 am on most days. Unlike her father, who called his various 2CVs Beluga, Salt, and Pepper, Geneva has not given her Citroën a name.
"I really appreciate interesting vehicle design," she says, "But I don’t have the car collector gene."
What was passed down, instead, was understanding. Both the 2CV and a Bowlus trailer speak the language of the road. The little French car shouts with a heavy accent, reeking of exhaust and Gauloises, pied-au-plancher, foot to the floor. A Bowlus wafts in the slipstream of a modern performance crossover or wagon, lightweight, aerodynamically slippery, with a lower center of gravity than the competition.
The Citroën 2CV turns even a grocery store run into an adventure. The Bowlus doesn’t weigh you down on your modern driving adventure. There are aeronautical roots to both: Hawley Bowlus, who founded the company that Long revived, supervised the construction of Charles Lindbergh’s Spirit Of St. Louis; early Citroën test drivers wore leather flying helmets. Both a 2CV and a Bowlus make you feel like you’re out on the frontier of exploration, just in very different ways.
In a post-pandemic world, Geneva Long sees road travel booming. With a smaller environmental footprint than flying and the lure of go-where-you-will independence, Bowlus trailers appeal to well-heeled would-be nomads. Fitted to the hitch of a Porsche Panamera, AMG E63 Wagon, or Rivian R1T (pending), there’s no back road you couldn’t explore at your own pace. Stop when you feel like stopping, camp in a vineyard or a beach, never feel like you’re towing an apartment building behind you.
Geneva occasionally still drives her 2CV on the weekends. Down to the beach with the dog, canvas roof open to the breeze. The pitch and roll of the suspension, the whiff of oil and exhaust, all remind her of her childhood.
It’s the language of the road. Go anywhere. Do anything. At the wheel of a motorized tent or pulling a gleaming earthbound aircraft. Go write a story for yourself. And bring your kids.
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